Ficlet: Baseball as a Metaphor (Morgan, Reid) PG
Criminal Minds ficlet for blueswan9, who asked for Reid and suggested something to do with either his mother, or baseball. I went with baseball.
Can be read as Reid-Morgan, or pre-slash of the Reid/Morgan variety.
*
It's a few months after the Hankel case when Derek finds Reid studying the sports section of the newspaper at his desk one morning.
"Who are you, and where's Dr. Reid?" Derek asks. It's a joke, but not really. Reid hasn't been the same, won't ever be the same, and it's damn clear that he's struggling to find out what that means.
Reid looks up, one finger pressed against the paper to hold his place in the center of a column of batting stats. "Oh, hey, Morgan."
"What's with the sudden interest in baseball?"
"It's not sudden, really," Reid answers. "And it's not interest, per se."
Always with the semantics, that's Reid. The problem with needing to be so precise all the time is that it leaves a person floundering when there is no perfect word, no exact phrasing.
Derek steps up to Reid's desk and leans a hip against it. "So what is it, then?" he asks.
"Fascinating, actually."
Reid goes on for a while about baseball, mostly about the statistics, and Derek isn't at all surprised when every word is a recitation of something Reid's read. Just like he isn't surprised by the faint circles under Reid's eyes, which aren't nearly as noticeable as they were several weeks ago, but are still around.
Hotch calls wheels up before Derek can respond, and a few hours later they land in Kansas. They spend three days working with the local authorities and manage to just rescue a twelve year old girl before she's cut into pieces.
Before they leave, Derek calls Penelope for a favor and she comes through for him, because she's a goddess like that.
Back in D.C. it's easy to steer Reid through the parking lot to Derek's car. Judging by the dark smudges under Reid's eyes, he didn't actually sleep much, if at all, in Kansas. "Morgan, what's--the train--"
"Hotch gave us the rest of the day off," Derek says as he shuffles Reid into the passenger seat.
"Yes, I know, I was there when he said it. Why am I in your car? What's going on?"
Derek starts the car and ignores Reid's question. "Buckle up."
*
The crowd makes Reid nervous, Derek can tell. It's a mad crush of people, all decked out for a day of raucous cheering and screaming. Derek doesn't say anything about the way Reid is pressing against his back and pretends that Reid isn't clinging to a handful of his coat.
The seats Penelope scored for them are right on the third base line, and Reid relaxes when they descend to their row, leaving the majority of the crowd to fill in the thousands of seats behind them.
"I didn't know you liked baseball," Reid says with confusion and faint suspicion. He's a lot more guarded than he used to be but it's a fragile and uncertain veneer.
"I don't. It's lame." He waves over a vender and orders a beer and a hot dog. Reid gets a soda and peanuts. "Give me basketball or football any day. Honestly, I don't know a damn thing about the Nationals or the Phillies. Who's favored to win?"
He looks at Reid expectantly, and waits as Reid juggles his food and drink while he takes off his satchel. Eventually he manages it, only spilling a small amount of the soda, and tucks the bag under his seat. "Um, the Nationals."
"Yeah? What are the odds?" Reid stares at him and Derek raises a brow. "Come on. All those stats and you don't know exactly how, why and to what degree the Nationals are the favorite?"
Of course Reid knows. He starts off slowly, haltingly, and Derek listens attentively while the seats around them fill, while the big monitor flashes audience shots, and even during the National Anthem.
"We're rooting for the Phillies," Derek says as the first pitch is thrown.
"What?"
Derek looks around the stadium at the hoardes of Nationals fans, the smattering of Phillies fans, and then back at Reid. "You heard me."
"But that's ridiculous. The odds of the Phillies winning are--"
"Reid? Shut up and cheer."
Derek really does think baseball is lame. It's also incredibly boring. Especially live. It takes too long and no one moves all that much and there are hardly any brothers to be seen on the field.
But being at a game with Reid is pretty damn amusing and entertaining. It takes two innings before Reid starts to root for the Phillies on his own, without Derek staring at him and intimidating him into clapping.
By the seventh inning stretch, Reid is really into it, and his face is split into a wide grin that Derek hasn't seen in a damn long time.
*
The Phillies don't just lose, they get shut out
Reid is still cheering for them in the ninth inning.
*
"Don't take this the wrong way," Reid says as they're in the car and fighting post-game traffic. "But why did you..."
Spring is coming late this year but winter's mostly gone, so it's a comfortably cool night. Derek rolls down his and Reid's windows and turns off the radio while he thinks about how to answer.
"You can analyze and chart every game in the history of baseball," Derek says eventually. "You can learn the physical mechanics of a ninety-mile an hour pitch, and know beforehand who's most likely to win. But that doesn't tell you what it's like to play the game, throw the pitch, or hit a ball." He pauses a moment. "And it doesn't tell you what it's like to experience a game with thousands of people, or watch how graceful those players make it seem, or know what it's like to root for the underdog. That you only learn by going out there and doing, experiencing."
"Morgan..."
Derek waits but Reid doesn't say anything else. When he looks over, Reid is staring out of the passenger side window, his jaw tense, and his hands are trembling slightly where they rest on his knees.
The traffic thins out not long after and Derek eases down on the accelerator, going a little faster than he should just so that he can glance to the side and see Reid's hair get messed up by the wind.
Derek spent years researching abusers and victims, read everything he could in the hopes that he could understand it enough for it to make sense and hurt less, and figure out the perfect way to heal. In the end, there was no understanding it, not on any real level, and he only healed when he stopped trying so hard to do it and started living in the world, living his life, again.
At Reid's building, Derek double-parks and lets the car idle. "Get some sleep, Reid."
Reid nods absently and undoes his seatbelt before getting out. Just as Derek's about to pull away, Reid ducks his head into the still open window on the passenger side. "Morgan? Thanks."
Morgan nods sharply. "Sleep, Reid."
*
.End
Can be read as Reid-Morgan, or pre-slash of the Reid/Morgan variety.
*
It's a few months after the Hankel case when Derek finds Reid studying the sports section of the newspaper at his desk one morning.
"Who are you, and where's Dr. Reid?" Derek asks. It's a joke, but not really. Reid hasn't been the same, won't ever be the same, and it's damn clear that he's struggling to find out what that means.
Reid looks up, one finger pressed against the paper to hold his place in the center of a column of batting stats. "Oh, hey, Morgan."
"What's with the sudden interest in baseball?"
"It's not sudden, really," Reid answers. "And it's not interest, per se."
Always with the semantics, that's Reid. The problem with needing to be so precise all the time is that it leaves a person floundering when there is no perfect word, no exact phrasing.
Derek steps up to Reid's desk and leans a hip against it. "So what is it, then?" he asks.
"Fascinating, actually."
Reid goes on for a while about baseball, mostly about the statistics, and Derek isn't at all surprised when every word is a recitation of something Reid's read. Just like he isn't surprised by the faint circles under Reid's eyes, which aren't nearly as noticeable as they were several weeks ago, but are still around.
Hotch calls wheels up before Derek can respond, and a few hours later they land in Kansas. They spend three days working with the local authorities and manage to just rescue a twelve year old girl before she's cut into pieces.
Before they leave, Derek calls Penelope for a favor and she comes through for him, because she's a goddess like that.
Back in D.C. it's easy to steer Reid through the parking lot to Derek's car. Judging by the dark smudges under Reid's eyes, he didn't actually sleep much, if at all, in Kansas. "Morgan, what's--the train--"
"Hotch gave us the rest of the day off," Derek says as he shuffles Reid into the passenger seat.
"Yes, I know, I was there when he said it. Why am I in your car? What's going on?"
Derek starts the car and ignores Reid's question. "Buckle up."
*
The crowd makes Reid nervous, Derek can tell. It's a mad crush of people, all decked out for a day of raucous cheering and screaming. Derek doesn't say anything about the way Reid is pressing against his back and pretends that Reid isn't clinging to a handful of his coat.
The seats Penelope scored for them are right on the third base line, and Reid relaxes when they descend to their row, leaving the majority of the crowd to fill in the thousands of seats behind them.
"I didn't know you liked baseball," Reid says with confusion and faint suspicion. He's a lot more guarded than he used to be but it's a fragile and uncertain veneer.
"I don't. It's lame." He waves over a vender and orders a beer and a hot dog. Reid gets a soda and peanuts. "Give me basketball or football any day. Honestly, I don't know a damn thing about the Nationals or the Phillies. Who's favored to win?"
He looks at Reid expectantly, and waits as Reid juggles his food and drink while he takes off his satchel. Eventually he manages it, only spilling a small amount of the soda, and tucks the bag under his seat. "Um, the Nationals."
"Yeah? What are the odds?" Reid stares at him and Derek raises a brow. "Come on. All those stats and you don't know exactly how, why and to what degree the Nationals are the favorite?"
Of course Reid knows. He starts off slowly, haltingly, and Derek listens attentively while the seats around them fill, while the big monitor flashes audience shots, and even during the National Anthem.
"We're rooting for the Phillies," Derek says as the first pitch is thrown.
"What?"
Derek looks around the stadium at the hoardes of Nationals fans, the smattering of Phillies fans, and then back at Reid. "You heard me."
"But that's ridiculous. The odds of the Phillies winning are--"
"Reid? Shut up and cheer."
Derek really does think baseball is lame. It's also incredibly boring. Especially live. It takes too long and no one moves all that much and there are hardly any brothers to be seen on the field.
But being at a game with Reid is pretty damn amusing and entertaining. It takes two innings before Reid starts to root for the Phillies on his own, without Derek staring at him and intimidating him into clapping.
By the seventh inning stretch, Reid is really into it, and his face is split into a wide grin that Derek hasn't seen in a damn long time.
*
The Phillies don't just lose, they get shut out
Reid is still cheering for them in the ninth inning.
*
"Don't take this the wrong way," Reid says as they're in the car and fighting post-game traffic. "But why did you..."
Spring is coming late this year but winter's mostly gone, so it's a comfortably cool night. Derek rolls down his and Reid's windows and turns off the radio while he thinks about how to answer.
"You can analyze and chart every game in the history of baseball," Derek says eventually. "You can learn the physical mechanics of a ninety-mile an hour pitch, and know beforehand who's most likely to win. But that doesn't tell you what it's like to play the game, throw the pitch, or hit a ball." He pauses a moment. "And it doesn't tell you what it's like to experience a game with thousands of people, or watch how graceful those players make it seem, or know what it's like to root for the underdog. That you only learn by going out there and doing, experiencing."
"Morgan..."
Derek waits but Reid doesn't say anything else. When he looks over, Reid is staring out of the passenger side window, his jaw tense, and his hands are trembling slightly where they rest on his knees.
The traffic thins out not long after and Derek eases down on the accelerator, going a little faster than he should just so that he can glance to the side and see Reid's hair get messed up by the wind.
Derek spent years researching abusers and victims, read everything he could in the hopes that he could understand it enough for it to make sense and hurt less, and figure out the perfect way to heal. In the end, there was no understanding it, not on any real level, and he only healed when he stopped trying so hard to do it and started living in the world, living his life, again.
At Reid's building, Derek double-parks and lets the car idle. "Get some sleep, Reid."
Reid nods absently and undoes his seatbelt before getting out. Just as Derek's about to pull away, Reid ducks his head into the still open window on the passenger side. "Morgan? Thanks."
Morgan nods sharply. "Sleep, Reid."
*
.End